


not looking for sweet talk

by aspiringpencilcase



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-15
Updated: 2015-08-15
Packaged: 2018-04-14 21:12:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4580340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aspiringpencilcase/pseuds/aspiringpencilcase
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>shimada thinks a whole lot</p>
            </blockquote>





	not looking for sweet talk

Shimada Makoto has never considered being a coach or a teacher or someone of that sort, really. It just didn’t seem an option back when he was thinking of a way to make a living and now he has a shop to tend and, occasionally, volleyball to play, so he can somewhat tolerate the lack of noisy kids in his life. He also doesn’t exactly feel the urge to be the one passing knowledge to the younger generations and there’s that to his choice of a profession (Shimada Mart offers cabbage heads for 97 yen this week, don’t miss the bargain!).

Then, he plays one (1) game with the neighbourhood association and his comfortable, far-from-being-a-role-model lifestyle goes to hell, burying most of his free evenings under its crumbles. The avalanche behind it has average abilities, a downright scrawny build and a voice a tad too high-pitched for the steel it holds beneath. Its name is Yamaguchi Tadashi.

He comes to Shimada one evening, uncertain and almost shaking, despite for the stuffy air in the shop wrapping its hands around them both. His voice is surprisingly even, save for a hitch of his breath on the end of the sentence.

“Could you teach me the jump float serve?”

Shimada feels obligated to warn him that it’s difficult to master in a short span of time, and Yamaguchi just nods. It seems that the news is of no surprise to him, and Shimada feels himself relaxing and continues with his usual routine of closing up and rearranging stuff on the shelves, when Yamaguchi starts talking.

“I don’t want to be the only first year who doesn’t get to play.”

It comes out sure, strong; Yamaguchi himself seems a little bit thrown-off by the fact. Shimada sees himself in him, young and wide-eyed and hoping, desperately, to make a change. He’d got glasses where Yamaguchi has freckles, but it doesn’t make much of a difference; Yamaguchi stands before him, palms curled into fists, and waits.

Shimada remembers the hot, suffocating burn of watching from the sidelines against the insides of his throat; he knows it all too well.

“I’ll have to change first. You’re lucky my shift’s almost over, though.”

Yamaguchi nod comes with a little delay, as if he can’t believe Shimada has actually agreed. Hell, Shimada himself isn’t entirely sure he’s really up to coach this kid. Jump float serve isn’t exactly the easiest thing to get a hold of and Yamaguchi is the only first year who isn’t a regular, which says something about his skill level, but.

Shimada looks at his pursed lips and the tense line of his shoulders and decides that he will give it a shot. (his best one)

***

Watching Yamaguchi play for the first time is surely something.

There’s a cold snake curled deep in Shimada’s gut, he’s not sure whether he’s been this nervous during his own matches, when the rush of adrenaline from the responsibility overweight the anxiety. Now, though, he just wants to hide his face in his hands.

The anchor of the people staring is hanging almost visibly from Yamaguchi’s thin, lanky neck. He’s not ready, it’s too early, Shimada knows it and he’s sure that Yamaguchi does too. Probably better than anyone, he muses bitterly, as Yamaguchi starts the jump too early. Eight seconds, you’ve got eight seconds, flashes in his head, why didn’t you use them. He terribly wants to crack his knuckles, but he doesn’t have the time to do it.

Yamaguchi misses. His face falls even before the ball does, and Shimada almost feels the sour aftertaste in his mouth when Yamaguchi goes back to the sidelines. He does realize that the pain of the loss will make Tadashi stronger in the grand scheme of things, but it’s kind of difficult to zoom out of the gym with the smell of easily crushed hopes and air salonpas.

“Did you have fun, Tadashi?” Shimada asks him later, when he’s sure Karasuno is out of tears to shed. The angry outlines of Yamaguchi’s lips are enough of the answer even without his words, all despair and anger.

Anger is good; it’s a sufficient enough fuel for people to run on and Shimada knows that, but, looking at the way Yamaguchi’s eyes redden, he wishes for Yamaguchi to sustain himself with something less explosive. C4 is great for destruction purposes, sure, but said destruction usually starts within yourself.

Judging by the determined and calm spark in Yamaguchi’s eyes a few days later, he’s found his own sort of fuel. Shimada smiles at the thought; they start their practice session.

***

Yamaguchi makes progress. It’s not rapid by any means, but it’s there and it’s solid. Watching him develop in his own pace makes something in Shimada’s chest shift, warm with pride. It’s not only about volleyball anymore; he’s grown fond of Yamaguchi’s quiet snark and willingness to help and gentle, unobtrusive warmth, he’d say they’re closer to friends now and it’s not something he’d expect to come out of the whole ‘mentorship’ thing, but there it was.

The third time Shimada watches Yamaguchi serve, it gets in. And then one more time. Yamaguchi shines, his presence on the court is steady this time, like he belongs there. It’s breathtakingly pleasant to watch, Shimada finds himself smiling wide, from ear to ear. It’s not as vivid as the rush of blood to the head from his own victories, it’s slower, more subtle.

This time, when Yamaguchi makes his way to the sidelines, not pleased with himself entirely but pleased nonetheless, his back isn’t slouched. He’s like a puzzle piece falling into place, Shimada muses, watching Yamaguchi being tackled into a hug by his teammates,

He feels the pride bottling up in his chest, tiny soda bubbles working their way up to the neck. Yamaguchi did this; all of his hard work, late evenings spent either in the school gym or on the back of Shimada’s shop, reserved persistence paid off, all of it did.

“Yamaguchi-kun is certainly the hero of this match”, he hears Takeda say from his seat near to Ukai and can’t help but agree.

The game goes on, Shimada follows it, attentive, wincing at mistakes and huffing at points for Karasuno. Sometimes he throws a glance or two at Yamaguchi, who cheers loudly, just as usual, and smiles.

Later in the evening, when Yamaguchi comes to his shop to discuss the game, his eyes are sparkling, intense. They briefly cover the mistakes he needs to avoid in the future, Yamaguchi frowns in concentration, making mental notes and Shimada sighs at his obvious dissatisfaction with himself.

“Tadashi.”

“Yes?” Yamaguchi looks up at him.

“You’ve done great today. I know you think you should’ve performed better but no one gets perfect in a short span of time. Seijou called a time-out because of you, don’t forget it.”

Yamaguchi mutters something along the lines of “I’ll try”.

Shimada gets a sudden impulse to ruffle Yamaguchi’s hair. Usually he doesn’t surrender to his irrational side (at least that what he tells himself), but he feels this is one of the times he can afford it. Yamaguchi startles when Shimada first runs his fingers through his hair but then he seems to relax into the touch, his furrowed eyebrows smoothening.

They don’t talk about the game anymore this time. Shimada recommends Yamaguchi not to practise today, to which Yamaguchi just nods. Overexerting himself before the deciding game with Shiratorizawa would be extremely stupid, so Shimada offers him tea, as he always does when they finish with volleyball for the evening. Yamaguchi tells him stories about his little sisters, laughing a little, and Shimada listens, carefully, as if he’s watching Yamaguchi’s game all over again.

He himself doesn’t have any siblings, but he imagines that having a younger brother would be somewhat like this.


End file.
